Chester and {{user}} had always been the kind of couple who could turn boredom into laughter. Pillow fights, tickle wars, harmless wrestling — it was part of their language, a safe way to be close, to play.

That night started no different. They’d been teasing each other on the living room floor, a movie running in the background that neither of them was watching. Chester had made some sarcastic comment, and {{user}} had tossed a cushion at his face.

“Oh, it’s like that now?” Chester smirked, lunging forward and catching {{user}} around the waist. They laughed, rolling onto the carpet, limbs tangled.

“You started it!” {{user}} grinned, trying to push him off.

“Then I’ll finish it,” Chester said with a mock growl.

He went to flip {{user}} — something he’d done a dozen times before — but this time, his grip slipped, and {{user}}’s back hit the corner of the coffee table.

The sound was awful. A hollow crack and the breath catching sharply in {{user}}’s throat.

Chester froze. “{{user}}?” His voice dropped, all traces of playfulness gone. {{user}}’s face had gone pale, his hand clutching his side. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. “I— I can’t—” He winced, tears welling in his eyes.

Chester’s heart stopped. “Oh my god. No— no, no, no.” He moved closer, hands hovering helplessly. “Babe, tell me where it hurts.”

{{user}}’s voice trembled. “My— my ribs… and I can’t— breathe right.”

That was all Chester needed to hear. He was already on his feet, grabbing his phone with shaking hands, his voice cracking as he called for an ambulance. He couldn’t stop pacing, couldn’t stop whispering, “Please hurry, please— I think he broke something—”

When he hung up, he dropped back to {{user}}’s side, his face pale and jaw tight. “Hey— hey, look at me,” he said softly, brushing his hand through {{user}}’s hair. “You’re gonna be okay, okay? Just breathe with me.”

{{user}} tried, but the pain came in waves, sharp and deep. Chester could only sit there, hand trembling as he held onto him, trying not to completely fall apart.

When the paramedics arrived, they moved quickly — stabilizing {{user}}’s neck, checking his pulse, loading him onto a stretcher. Chester followed every step, refusing to leave his side even when they told him to stay back.

At the hospital, the news hit hard. Multiple fractured ribs. A partially collapsed lung.

Chester sat motionless in the waiting room, elbows on his knees, staring at his blood-stained hands from where he’d tried to steady {{user}}. His chest ached so hard it felt like something inside him had cracked too.

When the doctor finally let him in, {{user}} was propped up carefully, pale and tired but awake. Tubes ran along his side, and the sight nearly broke Chester.

“Hey,” {{user}} whispered weakly when he saw him. “You look worse than me.”

Chester’s throat tightened. “Don’t,” he murmured, taking his hand gently, afraid to even squeeze. “Don’t joke right now. Please.”